Let It Be Undone
by Alchemy Hael
Summary: Rasler survived Nalbina, but things didn't turn out for the better, but even surrounded by enemies he waits for that one to protect, what will in turn protect him. Intended Rasler/Vaan. "I'll wait for you Vaan." Oneshot for now.


He didn't die like he was supposed to

He didn't die like he was supposed to. And Basch wasn't there to be framed. The whole thing fell apart and sometimes Rasler thought that maybe the war would have been easier on the people if only it _had_ gone according to plan. Sometimes, he thought it, but mostly he liked being alive, and he liked having Basch there with him, to help him fight the enemies on the battlefield.

But even Basch couldn't fend off the demons he fought in the night. The ones that whispered of Lowtown and her inhabitants, and it ever increasing shortage of adults and the number of orphans that grew each day. Rasler hadn't been to Lowtown in two years, since sometime after that failed defense at Nalbina.

He'd returned to Dalmasca, a defeated and banished prince; a survivor of the Battle at Nalbina, a land that not even the enemy could make use of, it was so overcome with the wild violent magic that had been vomited up in the chaos of that battle. He survived it, to watch Basch call the retreat, too late, there were hardly any left to fall back, a handful, that was further cut by the fall of the Paling. It was only a prince, a captain, and three knights that managed to leave Nalbina alive.

One of the knights was stricken down with Mist fever, and became some manner of beast to be posted on the Hunters' board. Perhaps he was already dead; maybe they hunted for him still, a rare mark. Rasler did not know his name, he didn't know any of their names. Too selfishly caught up in his singular grief, he ignored the equally painful loses of his people, those that managed to survive, until Lowtown.

He had been hiding, wallowing in self pity, behind some crates, somehow managing to believe his grief and loss far outweighed that of the orphans and broken souls that inhabited the underground village. A child ran by his crate and crashed to the curb, and Rasler muttered to himself at the annoyance as they choose _his_ crate to cry nearby. The boy was sobbing, great heaves that, even in his cold detachment, he couldn't help but be concerned about. Just as he was about to stand, to offer what unhelpful condolences he could to the child, a voice called out.

"Come on, come on, it ain't all that bad."

"It is so!" screamed the child around his tears.

A young boy, twelve or so by the look of him, stepped out around the corner to stand in front of the crouched child. Blond and tan, with a smile that spoke of warm comfort and ready defense, blue gray eyes that whispered of mischievousness too long contained, and a wisdom more than street smarts.

"He didn't mean harm by it, they just don't understand. Can't help the upper folk, it's just the way they are."

"But he said it would have been better if-"

"I heard, I heard. Like I said, no help for 'em. Can't appreciate what life they got, they gotta go 'round wishin' death on others."

"Stupid uppers! They don't know what a great guy Mister Captain Basch is! He's the coolest upper I ever seen!"

Rasler looked away, he knew of what they spoke of. When he and the captain had returned from Nalbina, the Empire's traitorous conspiracy had been revealed. At first, they had been hailed, heroes who had foiled Arcadia's advance, but continued months of war had changed the hails to jeers and bitter whispers.

"_Everyone knows. Yes, the king would have been murdered by the Empire, but he was dead anyway. If only Rasler and Basch hadn't exposed the plot."_ they whispered. "_It's true, Dalmasca would have been overrun by the Empire,"_ they would say, _"but is that not preferable to sending the sons and daughters of Dalmasca to their deaths in a seemingly endless war we're bound to lose anyway?"_

Rasler had just been setting himself up for another bout of self pity when the older boy smacked the younger across his cheek. The hit wasn't brutal but it was a shock, and Rasler realized he must have missed something as he listed away in depression.

The elder was staring down at the younger boy in disapproval, the hand that had struck, now fisted at his side. "Won't do you much good to be hatin' uppers if you're gonna act just like 'em. Sayin' stuff like that, wantin' 'em to go off ta die. What good'd that do you, huh? Bet if it really happened you'd be right sorry about wishin' it. Just like them uppers'd be if Rasler and the Captain were dead."

"I didn't mean it Vaan." The younger boy whispered regretfully.

Vaan smiled, "I know, just like the uppers don't really mean it. Just, sometimes you want for things to be so different you wish for anything, even bad things. Cause, you want things different, you'd take most anything. But you gotta be grateful for what you got. If you're not, then you should just go off to the desert find you some Empire and take out as many as you can 'for they kill ya. Cause I can't stand hearin' folk mutter 'bout change they won't fight for but leave for someone else. Especially if that someone else is willing to take it. It ain't right. Everyone's gotta do their part, right? That's what we say down here right? Gotta do our part."

The younger boy stood, and nodded solemnly, "Gotta do my part." He said with determination.

"Good. Now get goin'."

The younger boy took off, back the way he had come but stopped when Vaan called back.

"And Kytes, don't forget to run by Penelo's, she's working for some bangaa, Megelo, Migelo or something. She might have something for you."

Kytes waved his acknowledgment back.

"Ah, the young do bounce back quickly, as it should be." An old voice broke the silence.

Vaan turned slightly with a grin, "Ah, what'er you talkin' about Dalan. You're still pretty young yourself. Don't see you rollin' around in a floating chair yet!"

An elderly man chuckled as he stepped up to pat the youth's shoulder. "It does me good to hear you say so, and to see you taking such care of your fellows."

Vaan shrugged, "Someone's gotta, I figure I'll get them all set, you know, get a system they can rely on, support group or something. That way, when I leave it won't disrupt so much, right? I won't just be leaving them to fend for themselves."

Dalan sighed, "So you still plan to follow your brother's lead and become a knight?"

"I got good reason. Reks, he went cause we were starving, we didn't have a choice. Me, I'm gonna go cause I think Rasler and the Captain need every good guy they can get, but seeing how most of them's dead they'll just have to settle for me."

Dalan's smile was proud and a little sad, "Those whispers, no doubt the Empire started them. Most likely their backup plan, should their plot be discovered. Make the people question their leaders and they might start turning elsewhere, even right into the arms of their enemies. The people who moan the most for peace the loudest will be the ones to draw the blood of those that protect them. Easier to accept killing a few men to save your own skin, good men though they be."

"Easier to stab them in the back when their in front trying to protect you." Vaan said angrily. "That's why I wanna join. I'm gonna start off from the bottom and get to the top, I don't want them in front of me. I wanna be right next to them. Watching _their_ back."

Rasler stayed behind that crate hours after Vaan and Dalan had moved on, the boy's words still ringing in his heart, and for the first time since before the news of his homeland's fall, a smile crossed his face.

"I'll wait for you… Vaan."

--

--

Two years, he was still waiting. Waiting for a boy from Lowtown, who he knew nothing about. A boy with bright eyes that wanted to play but knew and understood things many older and wiser took for granted. In two years the morale of the Dalmascan people had steadily dwindled, until Rasler and those loyal to him were forced to take their operation underground. They were no longer considered knights, but resistance fighters. Dalan's words proved to be dismally accurate.

A year and a half after the fall of Nalbina, the Arcadian Empire reached out to the Dalmascan people, offering a way out from their oppressive government that persisted in escalating the war. If only they were to hand the reins to Arcadia, all would be well, with no further need for bloodshed.

And so it was not the Empire that drove them out, but their own people. Dalmasca itself had twisted and turned against them, so that they were forced to fight the battle against the Empire and without the aide and support of their brethren.

Ashe had gone, not really turning against him, but against his ways. She wanted the Empire destroyed, to the last man. She felt, that that was what it would take, that the evil that pit its will against them, was present even in its citizens. She sought out, dangerous and morally ambiguous methods of hindering the Empire that, in the long and short run, did little to the Empire itself. She was still naïve, and over two years of war had only turned that naivety in a treacherous way. She held no life above that of her mission. Dalmasca must be free. And to her, that freedom had no cost. It was almost as if she felt it was the city _Dalmasca,_ and not its _people_ that she fought for.

"_Your weakness would have us fitter away what strength and forces we had left for the preservation of a few Arcadians." _Her words, the last he heard before she set out. For what purpose, he knew not.

"What is the point of surviving the war if you can't live with yourself after it?" Rasler knew the madness that seeped in her. If left to fester, soon she would not be able to tell Dalmascan from Arcadian, and should they stand in her way, she would strike them down, and perhaps she would never know, or care, whether it was the enemy or her people.

Already, she had come close, the bitter whispers that became demands of the Dalmascan people, nearly turned her from them completely. Now, it was as if she lived in a Dalmasca of the past. Who's people had either died in the war or fought with her now, all else was the Empire's.

"Lord Rasler?"

He looked up from his study of the table, Basch stood at attention, waiting for his acknowledgment to continue. Loyal Basch, who, even now, found it hard to step out of the routine of Prince and Captain, even now that they were Resistance and only half as organized.

Rasler smiled, "Yes Basch?"

"Reports from Rozarria." He said, placing the papers on the table.

"Rozarria? I wasn't aware we had any allies willing to bleed so far from our watchful eyes." He mused with a touch of derision. It was only to mask the feeling that threatened to choke him, that there were still those willing to fight for him, even so far from him.

"A relatively new operative. In actuality, he took it upon himself to infiltrate Rozarria, and after having reached some level of understanding and station among the Rozarrians, contacted us. Two months ago we began receiving almost daily reports of Rozarria's state of affairs. I took the liberty of assigning two of our own to investigate the validity of the records and they all hold true. I recently met him, and he asked to be officially acknowledged." Basch smiled in one part amusement and part thankfulness. "He's young, which may account for the need for acknowledgement, but I believe him to be a good man."

High praise indeed, coming from Basch. "Will I get to met him soon?"

Basch shrugged, "His standing is that of a servant of the Margrace, a favorite. Al-Cid rarely travels without him, so it would be difficult to meet with him without arising suspicion and perhaps putting him in danger. However, he reports that of late, Al-Cid has slowly turned from his kinsmen's ideals of rule over Ivalice and more toward peace in it. It may take some time, but soon, we might call the Margrace ally." There was a hope in Basch's voice that Rasler had missed lately. For that alone, he would grant their Rozarrian operative anything he could give him.

"And his name?" he asked. Rasler would not make the same mistake twice, this time, he would know his people, he would know their dreams, and hopes, their reasons for fighting, for believing.

Starting with their name.

"Vaan."

…

Rasler smiled, and leaned back in his chair to stare sideways out the window.

"I've been waiting for you. Vaan."

--

--

--

This just, wrote itself. I wanted it to be a Rasler/Vaan fic, but I can never seem to get to that part. Once again, this is just a one shot. Maybe I'll add to it, should inspiration strike.

Actually, I am amazed at it. I hadn't expected it to turn quite so detailed. For that reason alone I have high hopes that I might continue this.

Disclaimer: I hereby claim, that I do not own the rights to Final Fantasy XII, but I do have my very own Limited Edition of the game in its nice metal package. That does not however give me rights of ownership over these characters, so, once again, let me make it clear. I do not own them.

And since I am disclaiming, I will take the opportunity to respectfully admit that this was motivated by Mage-Alia's wonderful "A Man from Nabudis", without whom I would have never even considered the veritable treasure of opportunity that Rasler as a character could be. I was inspired. So many thanks go to Mage-Alia for breaking open that box.

Some of you might notice Vaan's speech change from Kytes to Dalan. I kinda figure, Vaan's like a mutable substance, he changes to those around him. It was a slight quirk in him that I wanted in his personality, some kind of evidence that even if he is a street rat, surviving it made him adaptable. Also, this is under the idea that Reks death brought out the more mature Vaan that didn't really get seen a lot in the game. Also, I don't mean to sound like I'm bashing Ashe, just that, she seemed so aloof to her own people that I find it hard to imagine her the steadfast leader who holds her people together.

And with that, I leave you. Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed it.


End file.
